


in the evening clear i'll be dreaming

by blackwood (transjon)



Series: catboy jon and his catchildren [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Catboys & Catgirls, Established Relationship, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Parenthood, author has very limited understanding of gardening despite furious googling, briefly mentioned animal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: It’s Martin that comes up with the idea.--or; teaching responsibility to your cat children through taking care of something smaller than yourself. not a pet, though.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: catboy jon and his catchildren [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994026
Comments: 20
Kudos: 93





	in the evening clear i'll be dreaming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voidfoxstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidfoxstarlight/gifts).



> titles from mama's gun by glass animals!
> 
> i love this AU a lot actually aha. please do let me know if i messed up pronouns. keeping track of eight kids is challenging

It’s Martin that comes up with the idea.

“My mum didn’t do it,” he says, fingers tracing little circles into Jon’s chest. “And I know it’s not _mandatory,_ but I figured it’d be a good way to,” he waves his other hand vaguely, “teach responsibility. Or, bond with something smaller and more fragile than yourself.”

“Nothing alive,” Jon says immediately. He’s already thinking about little claws getting too excited around a rodent or a fish. Days left unfed. Dragging feet and complaining about who has to clean the tank or the cage.

“What? No,” Martin says, equally frantic, “God, no. No. Well, not an _animal._ But – plants?” 

Jon settles back down. “Like flowers?”

Martin hums. He puts his head on Jon’s chest. Jon, happy with the contact, starts purring softly. “I thought they might want to pick.”

Thoughtful hum. Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “We _do_ have the garden space now.”

The previous owners had left the garden a mess of mud and uneven grass. Dying hydrangeas and droopy apple trees in the front garden. Little puddles foot deep. There’s the remains of what once used to be a place to grow potatoes. 

It’s almost warm outside. The growing season hasn’t yet started. “Okay,” Jon says. “Let’s do it.”

–

The kids don’t – they don’t _hate_ the idea. 

Martin sells it pretty well. “Who likes flowers?” he asks. 

Legs crossed, sitting on the floor, there’s a quiet murmur of agreement from most of the children. Charlie shakes his head, a mischievous look on his face, and Poppy, noticing it, giggles. Jon smiles faintly. 

“Who likes… Basil?”

Less audible agreement this time. “Tomatoes? Strawberries? What fruits or vegetables do you like?” 

“Pumpkins,” says Sage. She stands up to say it, face glowing with excitement. 

“You won’t get any pumpkins until Autumn,” Jon says. Sage sits back down, mildly less excited.

So – it’s not a _total_ disaster. They end up in the garden that afternoon, the kids in their rain boots and dungarees, Martin in a silly little straw hat and knee high wellies. Jon watches from the kitchen window as the kids pretend to not know how to use a shovel, and then he watches as Sage and River fight over a shovel, and then he watches Martin teach Harper and Bee how to pull out weeds with the root still attached. 

“Are you actually getting anything done?” he calls from the doorway. 

“Why don’t you come see for yourself?” Martin quips back. The wellies haven’t saved his jeans from getting muddy and damp. He’s got grass stains on the sleeves of his jumper. 

“Why don’t I,” Jon mumbles, shrugs on his jacket. The kids cheer. “This is still all weeds,” he says to them, “where are your plants going to fit?”

River, who’s ran up to him, their body pressed against his side, says “they’re not.”

Jon shoots a helpless look at Martin, who laughs. “Come here,” he says. “Let’s clear this area, okay?”

Bee, from next to Martin, goes “I’ve been helping the whole time.” 

“So have I,” claims Sasha, and runs over to sit next to Martin, Bee, and Harper on the damp ground. Martin shakes his head quietly, but there’s a smile on his face. 

“We’re missing children,” Jon mumbles. “Where’s Charlie? And Riley and Sage?”

“Charlie’s taking weeds to the compost bin,” Martin tells him. “Believe it or not we’ve actually gotten a whole wheelbarrow’s worth out.”

Jon, glancing at the goosegrass and the chickweed and the dandelions can, in fact, not believe it. “Still leaves Riley and Sage.”

Martin shrugs his left shoulder. Jon looks. “What are they – Martin. That’s – put the shovels down!”

Sage and Riley, shovels still in hand, look at Jon with a look of guilty shock. “We’re dueling,” Sage tells him. 

“I was winning,” Riley says. Lowers their shovel. The tip of it sinks into the soft ground. 

“Martin.”

“You try to wrangle all of them.”

“I do,” Jon points out, “every day.”

Martin frowns. “Fine,” he says. “Okay, okay. What if we got the plants, and _then_ we tried to get the garden ready?”

Jon eyes him. “Or what if we just told them there’ll be no Muppets until the garden is ready?”

Martin sighs, and then laughs, and then sighs again. “Or that.”

–

Poppy is the first to pick her plant.

“Like me,” Poppy tells them. She does a little pirouette right there, holding onto the poppy flower seed packet with both hands. “Just like me.”

Sage, less excited about being named after a plant, returns to the meeting place with her hands full of seed packets. “Pick one,” she exhales when she gets to Martin, who doesn’t call her out on the fact that she’s clearly been running around instead of walking. 

“This one,” Martin says, and pulls out the one with DAISY printed on it in bold letters. 

“Yay,” she exclaims and sprints back towards the little swiveling shelf holding seed packets to put the rest back.

“That’s a little tropical for the garden,” Jon tells Charlie, who is the next one to get back. “It is not going to make the first night.”

“I can give it a blanket,” Charlie says, stubbornly, but he stomps back to the exotic plants section with the monstera in his arms anyway. When he comes back he’s holding a miniature orange tree.

“No,” says Jon without looking. “I’m going to pick _for_ you if you’re not careful.”

Charlie screams wordlessly but turns around again to return the citrus tree back to its shelf as well. 

The rest of the kids come back in little trickles. Harper and a tomato plant. River, who’d briefly started crying and then managed to get themself under control again over not having a botanical name, with basil seeds. Riley and tulips. Sasha with onion bulbs, and Bee with an apple tree start that Jon makes them put back after a moment of thinking. They come back with spinach, pouting slightly. 

“Does everyone have something?” Jon asks at the checkout. “Charlie?”

Charlie, defeated and scowling, holds up his little potted begonia wordlessly. 

“Fine,” Jon says. “That’s okay.”

A reverent hush falls when the cashier reads out the total, and then, after Jon’s entered his debit card pin and the receipt has been printed, the kids, in mostly unison, cheer. 

–

“I think we probably should’ve anticipated that,” Jon murmurs. 

It’s his turn to have his face smushed into Martin’s chest. He’s gone boneless with exhaustion. Martin’s arms wrap around him, hands stroking over the length of his back slowly. 

“Probably,” he agrees mildly. “I think it went alright.”

Jon’s ears twitch and then settle. “Could’ve been worse,” he offers.

Martin, with some difficulty due to the position, presses a kiss to Jon’s hair. “Only one meltdown counts as a success in my book.”

Jon hums. 

“They’re six,” Martin says softly. “It was good. They’re not going to remember getting upset over how some of them got to plant directly into the ground and some of them had to first wait for the seeds to sprout.”

Jon hums again. “Maybe we should’ve told them that would happen before we set them loose in the store.”

“Too late now,” Martin says. Another kiss. “But I think when the seeds sprout they’re going to forget completely that they were ever upset about it.”

“If they sprout,” Jon mutters darkly, and then sighs. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right!” Martin exclaims. “That’s why you married me.”

Jon smiles against the skin of Martin’s chest. “Maybe so.”

–

Martin’s right, of course. If anything he’d downplayed how exciting the day would be. 

When the bulbs and the plants had gone into the dirt the seed packets had been _Bee’s_ and _Poppy’s_ and _Sage’s_ and _River’s_. Now that the basil seeds are sprouting they are, predictably, a group project. River, benevolent and glowing with the fruits of their labour, basks in the excited chatter. 

“Have we been telling them to at least use words if they have to scream?” Jon asks Martin.

Martin chuckles. “No,” he says. He wraps his arms around Jon’s waist. “Should we start?”

Jon just sighs. The children crowd around the little tray and chatter and push each other around to get closer. 

“I hope mine sprout next,” Poppy says mournfully. Her tail swishes and then tucks itself between her legs dramatically. Harper wraps their arms around Poppy in a loose hug and squishes their cheek against hers. 

“Don’t worry,” they say. “They’re going to be _excellent._ ”

–

The tulips bloom.

“Oh,” Riley says, mesmerized. One trembling hand touches a red petal. The tip of their tail twitches rapidly. “I did that.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, “you sure did! Do you want to put some in a vase?”

Riley’s hand closes around the flower protectively. “I think that would hurt them,” they say stiffly. “I think we should leave all of them alone.”

Martin smiles. “Alright.” 

Riley traces the tips of their fingers over the entire row of flowers, gentle and careful, tail standing straight up, the tip twitching. When they reach the end of it they still, eyes fixed on the blooming flowers. Jon watches them deflate slowly, tail twisting like a mostly boneless snake, pleased and content. 

“No tomatoes,” Harper sighs dramatically. Martin ruffles their hair playfully. 

“Won’t be another several months,” he tells them. Harper scowls, and then stomps off to look at the tulips as well. Jon watches them link arms with Riley. He’s not sure what they say to them, but a bright smile spreads over Riley’s face. Jon smiles as well.

“Any weeds?” Martin calls out to the rest of the children.

“Nope,” Sage says, all authority. 

“Yes,” says Bee. They run over to Martin with their hands full of dandelion stems. 

“Did you leave the roots in the ground?” he asks. 

Bee squirms in place for a few seconds and then runs back where they came from silently. 

–

“Are they learning responsibility?” Jon asks. 

“You tell me,” Martin says, and points. 

Charlie, sitting on his knees on the little cushion he’s come to carry around, is whispering something into the half-formed blooms of his begonia. He’s got grass stains on the knees of his jeans regardless. His tail, the shape of a question mark, sways from side to side gently. 

Jon smiles. Charlie, sensing their gazes on him, turns his head to look. He, too, smiles brightly. 

“There’s bumblebees,” Harper screams from among the crowd of children tending to their respective plants. 

“That’s okay,” Martin tells them. “They’re going to help your tomato plant make tomatoes.”

Harper eyes the bugs nervously anyway. Poppy wraps a protective arm around her sibling and hisses at the bee, who doesn’t pay any attention to the two of them, happy to buzz from one flower to the next. 

“Bees won’t hurt you,” Sage says from her spot on the grass. “Only if you hurt them.”

Harper hisses at the bee as well anyway. Just in case.

–

“They’re done,” Poppy screams from the garden. “Flowers! Just like me!”

Jon watches as the kids crowd around the patch of soil taken over by a spattering of long stems, and now flowers as well. 

“They’re beautiful,” Harper tells her. 

“And there’s so many!” Riley exhales, mesmerized. The tulips are long gone by now, and Sage has been guarding her daisies with the rabid protectiveness of a guard dog since the first of the buds formed. Their fingers gingerly, carefully touch a soft petal. “So many…”

“You can have one,” Poppy tells them, entire body wiggling in excitement. 

“Can I have one too?” Sasha asks. They’ve been patient so far with their onions but Jon can see them starting to get a little discouraged as the flowers and herbs grow and bloom and their siblings run around yelling in excitement. 

“Yes,” Poppy tells them. “But only one.”

–

The first tomato of the season eventually, after a week of waiting and staring and _whining_ , finally turns a deep red all the way around.

“Is it done?” Harper asks, bare feet bouncing on the dewy grass. Their tail swishes with near violence, collides with Jon’s legs. 

Jon straightens back up. “Yes,” he says. “Go ahead.”

Harper, eager and vibrating with it, picks the tomato with barely restrained excitement. Once the tomato is in their hand they slow down just a bit, as if to savour the moment. They look at Jon, back at the tomato again, and then pop it into their mouth gingerly. 

“How is it?” Jon asks. 

“Mm,” they say. Bite down on it. “Delicious.”

“Excellent,” Jon says, smiles wide. “You did a great job.”

Harper’s face, bright and shining, splits into a grin, then. “And there’s more for later.”

Jon runs his fingers over a few of the green tomatoes, still ripening. “Maybe next week,” he tells them. 

“Next week!” they say. Run back towards the house. 

Jon looks up at the open window of their bedroom. “Well?” Martin shouts from inside, wrapped in a bathrobe, squinting in the early morning light.

Jon gives him two thumbs up. Smiles. 

Martin, equally radiant as the early morning sun, smiles back. Retreats back inside. Closes the window. 

Jon, too, goes back inside.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is transjon.tumblr.com!


End file.
